Lawyers
by Xervius
Summary: Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones are lawyers. Well, not quite lawyers - not yet, anyway. They both attend law school, although they have one, reoccurring problem - they can't seem to uphold the law. When they both meet as their alter egos and criminal personas, America and England, they form a fast friendship, but will it stay a friendship, or become something more? USUK-HumanAU
1. The Meeting

_This is certainly my lowest point,_ thinks Arthur, who is sitting down on the cold concrete floor, his back resting against a bony radiator that, luckily for him, is turned on and already heated up. His left arm is raised above his head involuntarily, a heavy metal ring surrounding his wrist and digging into it uncomfortably. Knees pulled up to his chest and encircled by his right arm, Arthur is sure that, if the radiator hadn't been there, he would have contracted some form of hypothermia by now.

It's winter in the city of London. Heaps of snow lie strewn about the quiet streets, the streetlights illuminating them as the world around them grows darker. Arthur knows it had been silly not to wear a coat out, but he'd really had no other choice. The costume that he'd stupidly chosen to wear back in the summer months consists of just a thin white shirt (that thankfully has long sleeves), partnered with a sleek black waistcoat and skinny black jeans. Not the best thing to be wearing out in -5 degree Celsius weather, but at least he hadn't chosen to wear shorts back then.

Arthur's ears are both pierced, as is his tongue, and his tall black boots stretch up to his knees, the laces criss-crossing all the way up. His fashion sense is questionable, but then again, so are his motives, so they cancel each other out surely. Upon Arthur's face is a black mask, obscuring his features just enough that normal civilians won't be able to tell who he is, which, considering his line of work, is crucial.

Now, what is his line of work, you ask? Have you not figured it out yet?

Fine then, I'll give you a few minutes. Or sentences, depending on how quick you read – I tend to read very quickly, however I do know that it's not the same for everybody. You can go back and re-read those first paragraphs again if you'd like.

Have you come to a conclusion yet, my dear reader?

You have? Marvellous. Knew you'd get it eventually.

That's right, Arthur is…

A lawyer.

Arthur is the most serious lawyer in the history of lawyers. The law trembles before him, and so do his co-workers.

…

Oh. You don't believe me? Rats, I was hoping I would be able to conceal his profession for at least a few more paragraphs, just to build suspense and suspicion.

Okay, I guess you win.

Arthur is not, in fact, a lawyer, although he is-

"-in deep trouble. Isn't that right, you masked menace?"

Arthur snaps his head up to look for the voice that had just spoken, and his eyes meet those of a particularly tall police officer, who towers over him somewhat menacingly. Maybe it's just because he's sitting on the floor at the moment, or that he is short himself, but Arthur feels very small right now; nevertheless, it's not the police officer his gaze stays focused on.

No, it's the golden-haired boy next to him that catches his eye.

The golden-haired boy, who happens to be wearing bright white spandex with a lazy 'A' painted on the front of it. To Arthur, it appears improvised, and rather unflattering to be honest.

In that moment, Arthur instantly knows that he and the boy are the same. They're both-

 _Lawyers,_ Arthur thinks, the right side of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile. Although the boy's face is obscured the same way as Arthur's is, he can still tell. Somehow. He's always had an affinity for those sorts of things. They're both lawyers, brought into a police station late at night for evading the law. How wonderful.

Okay, okay, I'm toying with you.

The word Arthur actually thinks is, _criminals_ , and he can obviously tell this by the boy's strange and super-villain-ish attire. In comparison, his own choice of outfit seems less silly, and dare he say it, _normal._

Well, maybe not _quite_ normal.

The police officer cuffs the boy by his right hand to the same pipe above the radiator that Arthur is cuffed to, and sits the boy down next to him.

"Just for extra security, I'm going to cuff you two rule-breakers to each other, so even if you do somehow manage to escape like last time, at least we'll be able to find both of you at once," the officer mutters under his breath as he cuffs the two together, sending a glare the other's way. Arthur doesn't know what the officer's talking about when he says 'last time', yet he assumes it must be in reference to the masked figure that he's now cuffed to.

The officer then edges out of the room, keeping an eye on them the entire way out and ending up bashing into the doorway as he isn't watching where he's going. The two boys snicker silently.

"So, you're like me then?" Arthur inquires after a few minutes, the sudden breaking of silence startling his new accomplice.

"O-oh- you mean like, a small-time criminal?" At this, Arthur rolls his eyes at the boy sitting next to him, who he now knows is American judging by the slightly irritating accent.

"No," he retorts sarcastically, "I was asking whether or not you were a lawyer."

An eyebrow is raised. It's clear he doesn't understand sarcasm, the idiot.

"Of course I meant criminal!" Arthur clarifies indignantly. "Although, I _am_ currently attending law school, courtesy of my parents. That's enough to make a would-be lawyer turn to petty crime and theft just to keep themselves _entertained._ "

The boy in spandex chuckles. "Don't I know it."

Surprise flits across Arthur's features, his eyes widening. "You're attending law school too?"

"Yep. The City Law School."

"Seriously? That's where I go as well!" Arthur exclaims, and pauses for a second, wondering if he may have seen the masked, spandex-wearing boy at his school. "I suppose you'll be a little reluctant to take your mask off to see if we know each other."

"Yeah, just a bit," he says, confirming Arthur's thoughts.

"Don't worry, I get it. I'm not going to show you who I am, either. Though, I do wonder if we may have met before..." Arthur wracks his brain for any American student with golden hair and blue eyes that he can possibly remember, but no faces or names come to mind. He should really start paying more attention at school.

The boy next to him hums in agreement, absently reaching up with his free hand to run it through his hair. He flops it back down to his side after a few moments, resuming his staring at the blank white wall in front of him. After a considerable pause, Arthur speaks again.

"Say, I do think we've been here long enough, don't you? Unless, of course, you like sitting on cold and rather uncomfortable surfaces."

The boy turns as much as he can to face Arthur, what with the handcuffs restraining him, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "I wondered when you'd say that." From his pocket, the boy draws a small hairpin. Big enough to unlock and remove the handcuffs, but small enough that the police officer didn't think to take it away from him. Arthur gives him a smile that matches his own, the American already starting to grow on him.

"Marvellous. One step ahead, I see."

The boy reaches up to his right hand with his left, fumbling about with the hairpin as he tries to manoeuvre it in a way that'll unlock his cuffs. "What's your name, Mr Lawyer?"

His name? Arthur can't give him his own, real name, no, that'd be foolish. However, he doesn't have an alias yet either, so he isn't quite sure what to say. Maybe if the other goes first, he'll come up with something. "Well, what's yours?"

"I go by... America," he says, and puffs his chest out proudly.

"America, eh? Not bad. Patriotic and stupid, but not bad."

"Hey! What's wrong with being a little patriotic?"

"Nothing, nothing," Arthur smirks. No, there's nothing wrong with being a little patriotic. Arthur regards himself as fairly patriotic as well, considering he is the very definition of a British stereotype.

If there's nothing wrong with being a little patriotic, then maybe…

"England," he says. 'America' looks at him with wide eyes, his grin still present on his face. "I go by England."

America chuckles as he finally manages to unlock both of the handcuffs restraining his right wrist, shaking and flexing his hand, before getting up and bending down to unlock Arthur's. "Well then, 'England', I think we'd better get going before that officer comes back to check on us. Agreed?"

Arthur smirks. "Agreed."

After a few minutes, the handcuffs clatter to the floor, and not a moment later, the two costumed boys are legging it out of the police station, laughter on their voices, and a weightless, mirthful feeling enveloping them as the adrenaline once again surges through them.

 _Maybe not my lowest point, then,_ Arthur thinks, as he steals a glance at the American running alongside him, his loud laughter echoing throughout the before-silent streets. _Yes, definitely not. Maybe, it could just become one of my best._

 _America and England, the sly, witty, and utterly dashing criminal duo._

 _Yes,_ Arthur thinks, _I could certainly get used to that._


	2. An Abundance of Unwashed Clothing

The two costume-clad boys keep running for about three blocks, before they dive into an alleyway, panting heavily. Arthur doubles over coughing, while America laughs as he slides down the wall next to him.

"Man, that was crazy," America chuckles, and combs a hand through his windswept hair. "I think that's the fastest I've ever run."

Arthur manages to cease his body spasms and plops himself down onto the concrete. "S-same here." He smiles weakly, his breathing irregular. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, causing his hands to shake, although not noticeably. The boys sit in silence for a few moments, thinking over what had just occurred.

However, they don't have long to sit in silence, because as soon as the sentence: "Do you think the police will be looking for us?" leaves America's mouth, they hear angry shouts of "They've escaped!" and "They can't have gotten far!", originating from about three blocks away.

Shit.

That's the only thing that comes to mind.

Well, that and 'bloody hell', but Arthur's the one who's mostly thinking that.

Either way, they're screwed, and they know it.

Frozen, the boys remain in silence, not daring to utter a word for fear of being found, when they realise that the footsteps are coming their way.

Double shit.

"Double shit? Really?" Arthur whispers indignantly. It appears that America had said those words out loud, instead of just thinking them like he'd meant to. America just shrugs to this, and Arthur rolls his eyes. It's then that he remembers WHY the phrase 'double shit' had been uttered.

"Fuck, America, we need to get the bloody hell out of here or we're going to get caught. They probably won't be stupid enough to let us out of their sights again, so we need to get away from them. Now."

America nods, his eyes wide, when he suddenly leaps into action. Jumping up, he casts his gaze around the dark alleyway they're currently situated in, and assesses the situation. "Right. That way-" he points towards the end of the alleyway- "is a dead end, so that's a no-no. The only way out of here is the way we came in, but that's where the police are, so we're basically screwed."

Arthur pauses for a moment, expecting him to go on. When it's clear that America is not going to say any more on the matter, he groans. "Oh yes, sound analysis, very well done. It's not like I could have worked that out by myself."

Sticking his tongue out immaturely at Arthur, America flinches when he hears more noises advancing towards their location. "Well, what're we going to do?" The panic is evident in his voice, and Arthur is just about to respond in exactly the same tone, when he notices-

"The bins! We can hide in the bins!"

"What, are you craz- hey!"

America begins to talk, but Arthur grabs him by the arm and pulls him towards the large grey bin opposite them, swiftly lifting it open and gesturing for America to get in.

"Are you kidding? I'm not getting in that! I'm wearing _white_ spandex! It'll be completely ruined!"

"Shut up you twat, and get in the bloody bin! Unless you _want_ to go to prison?"

Begrudgingly, albeit quickly, America hauls himself over the side of the surprising large waste carrier and into the small pile of trash, cringing at the smell. Arthur follows suit and carefully lowers the lid down in order not to make a sound, which engulfs the two in darkness.

"Ugh, it reeks in here!"

"Keep it down, you idiot, or they'll find us!"

"How long are we gonna have to hide in here? This totally sucks!"

"I said, keep it down!"

"Ow! Why'd you hit me?"

"You deserved it, wanker!

"Did not!"

"Stop moving about!"

"I'm not!"

"Yes you a- ow! Get off me! That hurt, you idiot!"

"Sorry!"

"And get your hand off of my knee, you twat. It's not very comfortable."

"Uh, England? That's... Not my hand."

"Then what- _OH-"_

"It's a little cramped in here, so your knee is touching my..."

 _"Oh my god-"_

"Yeaaaahhh..."

"I'll never be able to look at you the same way. Ever. Jesus bloody christ."

This conversation continues on for about thirty more minutes, by which time the police have given up and gone back to the station, defeated, and the awkwardness has (almost) faded. Arthur's the first one to peek out of their impromptu hiding place, and after three more minutes of anxious watching, waiting, and listening, he dubs the coast as 'clear', and the boys climb unceremoniously out of the bin.

As soon as he's out of the bin, America glances disdainfully down at his ruined white spandex, which is covered in a multitude of smudges, grime, and other substances that probably won't ever wash out. "Aw man, I spent _ages_ making this costume! I even learnt how to sew and everything!"'

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs. "America, your costume was bloody awful. I bet my baby cousin could do a better job at making a suit than you ever could."

America looks offended, splutters, and then nods his head in fake sadness, a smirk playing on his lips. Arthur chuckles, and pats him on the shoulder. "Come on now, we should probably go and get cleaned up. My flat isn't too far from here, and luckily for you, I own a lot of soap. And spare clothes, for that matter."

"Great! Let's go!"

Around twenty minutes later, the boys find themselves in Arthur's flat. It's relatively small, and rather bland. No pictures hang on the walls, no little mementos perched atop cabinets, and no mess to be seen anywhere – it's almost like Arthur has just moved in. Unbeknownst to America, he's been living there for around about eight months now, and is something of a neat freak.

"Woah, England, your place is so… boring! Why is everything so grey? Where's the pile of unwashed socks that literally every student has stashed away somewhere?"

Arthur splutters, "Pile of unwashed- _hey!_ Don't go in there!"

America has wandered into Arthur's room, and Arthur can hear him gasp as he surveys his new surroundings. "There it is!" Arthur knows exactly what he's pointing at. Yep, it's the socks.

"Come out of there, you idiot! You're all filthy and I don't want you spreading muck across my belongings!" Arthur huffs, annoyed, scowling at America as he trudges out of his room. Unfortunately, it isn't a very threatening scowl, as Arthur still has his mask on, and it's rather hard to read someone's expression through a black piece of leather. Nevertheless, America seems to get the idea.

"Right, go and have a shower. I'll get you some clean clothes to put on for when you're done."

"Thanks, England! You're the best!"

Arthur smiles, his eyes meeting America's. "You're not so bad yourself. Now, come on, we absolutely stink."

Handing America the clothes, Arthur's smile remains on his face as he watches him head into the bathroom. It seems as though a strong, and fast friendship is forming between the two small-time criminals.

Who knows what will happen next?

Well, me, obviously – I'm the writer. Oh, you know what I mean.

 _Until next time, my dear reader!_


End file.
